A blog to showcase the writing of members of the group Facebook Storytellers. This group is a collection of my facebook friends who write original and in most cases unpublished stories. All stories however are copyrighted and cannot be reproduced anywhere without the consent, in writing, of the writer of said stories.

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Saturday, April 14, 2012

Out of Vivika's Box by Irene Riot

Meet Vivika

Her name was Vivika. Like Pandora, she too had a box; a box that was filled with all the evils of the world. Vivika opened her box and out flew all the evil it contained. She shut the box leaving Hope inside, for that's all she wanted her box to be filled with.

Ex2. That’s the name I have given to my second ex-husband. A lot convenient and nicer than Stupid Dumbass. We went through a very difficult divorce. Over the years, we were able to get past the pain. We are very good friends now. I love him very much but hell no, we are never going to get married again.

When I married Ex2, Vivika took me and my child and treated us like we were her own. Ex2’s whole family treated me that way. Ex2 and I were married 3 years. Even after the divorce, Vivika and I remained close. Ex2’s nieces kept in touch with my child. They were “cousins”. There was a small period when we lost touch but the important thing is now, we’re family again.

Vivika suffered a lot of abuse. She lived life and loved hard. She told me all she wanted to do was have a family and raise her children.

“I was the fill-in mother. When all you all professional mothers couldn’t be there for your kids, I was there to chaperone school trips and organize class events. I was den mother, girl scout and brownie mother, Babygirl, I was every kind of mother except a mother fucker”.

I was married to Raymond, my first husband. He is one mean muthafukka (and when you write that, Babygirl, make sure you get the spelling right. "muthafukka" and not "mother fucker") The only reason he’s still alive today is because the Devil is afraid he might go to Hell.

Well, one Christmas, he came home and talked himself into a frenzy. I don’t remember what he was upset about or if he was even drunk. He was just mad and he started beating up on me, again.

This beating wasn’t that bad. Whenever he bruised my face up I would always cover it up with makeup. I made sure I looked flawless when I went to work the next day. Well anyway, This time I was able to get to the bathroom and I was looking at my face in the mirror on our medicine cabinet.

Then I saw a box of his razors and I got the idea to cut my wrists. I didn’t want to kill myself or anything like that. I just wanted to see if I could make him hurt the way he made me hurt.

When he saw me bleeding he was all over me, “Oh, Baby, don’t die!” “I love you, Baby, I’ll take care of you… Oooooooh!” He was bawling like a baby.

My cousin came over, I guess he called her and she said to him, “Oh, N*gga, so now you love her! Well, did you love her when you were beatin' up on her face?” My cousin was like that.

The policemen that came knew us. They were friends of ours and we used to run around together back in the day. They also knew Raymond beat me but I was afraid to admit to anything. They said that if they ever had to come down to the house again, they were going to arrest him and take me to a shelter.

I didn’t have to go to the emergency room since I didn’t cut that deep. In their report, they put I accidentally cut myself while slicing carrots. If it was reported as a suicide, I would lose my kids.

Raymond wasn’t nice to me a week when he got mad and beat me up again. It was just a few days after I cut myself. This time he went to the bathroom, took a bunch of razors, threw them at me and said, “Here, do it right this time”

How It All Started

My daughter wanted to go out for dinner that night. She was getting in one of her moods again. I told her that if she is having boyfriend trouble or BFF trouble, she needs to tell me and I will back off and give her some space.

She was irritable, snappy and well, being a bitch. I told my daughter several times that I will love her, protect her and give her everything I can afford. She just has to do everything I tell her to do and “Sweety, you don’t ever disrespect yo’ momma”. She was at the verge.

At the tender age of 14, my little baby was having boyfriend trouble.

“How long have you been together as girlfriend and boyfriend?”

“Since December”

“Like some sort of Christmas gift to each other? Sweet. According to my calculations, you guys should be broken up by February. Do the ‘it’s me not you’ thing I taught you. And cry real tears. It might be better to break up with him after Valentine’s Day. He might get you something nice”.

The child let out an irritated sigh. Her eyes rolled.

“I don’t have the heart to break up with him and I don’t think he’ll ever leave me. He said that he will go to which ever college I go to”

Potential stalker. “Sweety, it sounds like your boy is a really nice guy, the kind of guy I would want you to marry. But you guys are just 14. Sounds to me like you want to keep him but at the same time, you want to explore”

“Sweety, you should cheat on your boyfriend. Just make sure he doesn’t find out”

“Mom!”

“I mean like, it happens all the time. I cheated on your father when we were girlfriend and boyfriend. He couldn’t say anything ‘cause he was doing the same thing to me!”

What Did I Just Do?

I felt funny for a few days. I knew what I told her wasn’t right. In reality, things like that do happen. Guys usually have a standby girl, the one they want to eventually marry, the one they cheat on then marry when they get done sowing their oats. Or they just dump her. Well, ladies do that too. I just never thought I’d be teaching that to my child.

If I was on good terms with my biological mother, I would have called her. I needed a mother. I was 41 years old. I practically raised that child on my own. I was an accomplished woman yet I still needed the guidance of a mother.

The details of what happened between me and my mother would fill another novel. I will never write that one. As far as I’m concerned, that book is closed and will never be opened. I will say this, I used to hate my mother to the point I wished she would die and burn in hell. That was the greatest pain I ever carried.

It was horrible waking up every day and feeling that pain. Then one day, I decided I had enough. I reconciled with her. It was good for about 2 months then I got screwed all over again. I walked away knowing I gave it my all. I walked away without guilt. Most importantly, when I walked away, my hate was released.

“Mother, I think I need your help. Marese is having boyfriend trouble and I told her to cheat on her boyfriend”

“Babygirl, why did you tell her that? The way she loves now will be the way she loves when she grows up. Isn’t it her spring break? Bring that baby here to me. I’ll set her straight. Imagine you, teaching my grandbaby how to sin”

“Mother, it don’t count if they’re not married. Plus, they’re just kids!”

For the record, I never cheated when I was married.

Kevin

“Mother, tell me a story”

“What kind of story, Baby”

“Tell me about your men. Tell me about that guy, remember when Allen and I were getting a divorce, you told me this story about this one guy you were in love with but you told him to stop calling you”

“Oh, now. That was Kevin”

Reminisce.

He was a beautiful man. No, he was fine with a capital “F”. He was an Adonis in chocolate. His skin was like Hershey milk chocolate. His moves were like that too, sweet and smooth. He had a smile that would brighten up the world, with teeth that were perfectly set like well disciplined piano keys. Almond shaped eyes. Dark brown. I got lost in them every time, yes I did.

He was hard not to notice. Every woman at the tennis court wanted to play with him, and not just tennis. You have to play tennis to be able to appreciate the body of a tennis player. He had perfectly chiseled thighs; you could see the outline of every muscle and watch every fiber contract when he played. Everything about him was like that.

He was friendly, so outgoing. I take that back. Friendly wasn’t the word. He was flirtatious. He would wipe the sweat off his brow, give you this look and it would be like, oh! Heaven would seem like hell next to him.

He was a very sweet man and he was good in bed. He would open the car door, pull out my chair, he did everything right. And he always smelled so good! Umm, umm, umm. Yes he did.

I was married to Daddy when I was with Kevin. Oh, I was so in love with that man. He asked me to marry him. I told Daddy about Kevin. Kevin is the only affair I told Daddy about.

It came to a point when I had to choose. Daddy or Kevin. Daddy said he would give me whatever I wanted if I stayed with him. Daddy was an engineer. We lived in this beautiful sprawling Spanish style house with the tile roof. I had my own car, a very nice car at that. Plus there were the kids, all four of them.

Kevin very outgoing but he had a simple job. His life was simple. With his salary, I didn’t think he could sustain me and the kids. I made a decision. A practical decision. A woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do.

I told Kevin that if he loved me, he would let me go. I told him to never call me and if I called him, never answer. He did as he was told. I would call and he wouldn’t answer. That made me so mad. Every time the phone rang, I would pray to God it was him.

My feelings for him ran deep. It took about 2 or 3 years but the feelings eventually died.

Vivika told me this story when I was going through my divorce with Ex2. God, I was so in love with that man. I held on until he dumped me for someone else. I thought my feelings would never die. Vivika was right. They did.